Alce Heliwr
by Arowen12
Summary: Will Graham is an Aesir (a Deity of the land) working for the Lord's realm, in the war against rouge Vanir. Upon the battlefield he meets a familiar face, that of Heliwr. Norse Au


Hello everyone, I am here with my first Hannibal fic (yay)! The premise for the fic is a medieval Norse setting, with our favourite cannibal and empath as Gods. I'd like to give a huge shout out to Haedraulics for inspiring me to write this, and for her constant support. Well I hope you all enjoy, read on!

Translations:

Garmr – dog/wolf

Heliwr – Hunter

Alce – Elk

X

It was cold in the mist enshrouded plains, the kind of chill that seeped through the thick layers of heavy fabric draped across Will's shoulders no matter how valiantly he tried to conserve what little of his body heat remained. Rising from a low crouch where he had been inspecting the cracked skull of a solider, death's last gruesome picture carved upon his features, Will reminisced of the warmer days now passed into memory.

Days where it was just the wide-open plains, the old hunting cabin set in bewildering forests of immortal miles. The gurgling creak where he could sit and be a predator to his inner nature surrounded by the hounds he favoured.

A heady gale picked up, rustling Will's curled locks gathered around his neck peeking out from the cowl of his hood. With the wind, the sickly-sweet scent of burning flesh was carried towards Will. Grimacing his gaze surveyed the pock-marked plains of the battlefield, corpses were scattered, and some were piled up like small burial mounds, with the moonlight sparingly glancing off cheap mail armour and the cleft of weapons.

Beyond the horizon where the sun's first light would dawn, cloaked in lingering shades of mist Will could see the opposing force. He was there arched above the other foot soldiers, imposing presence rippling in the air and choking the life from already pale greenery. Even the enemy shifted nervously, ragged leather and cold metal catching the light of swaying soldiers.

A rattling cough disturbed the young man's vigilance and with an arched eyebrow Will's deep cocoa eyes strayed to Jack. Crawford was the commander of the special forces battalion Will was assigned to, and had proven himself many times before in his proficiency upon the field, yet Will had been dragged into the whole affair by the man's weathered hands.

Though Will could hardly fault the man, his bitterness lingered only in the attempted taming and shelling of blind ignorance the man pursued with Will. It was easy to trick a mortal, but Will was keen of mind and could see the folds of a character.

They would resume soon Will acknowledged with a sigh, the standstill that had taken place occurring only so that opposing forces could recount their numbers and attempt to bury their dead. The savagery of the wild ones knew no bounds, and Will doubted the thought of burying their dead even occurred to them. It was far more likely for them to consume their brother's flesh in the way of the new Vanir.

Will could almost taste his presence upon the air; thick and heady like the rich wines served in the noble homesteads, yet with a bite to it that kindled fear in any sane man's heart. Will had never been sane of mind always too keen on what other's felt and their actions; it had been unnerving to some, and to others a kind of craft of witchery. It was why he distanced himself to the far reaches of the forest, where the only companionship he received was that of the wildlife.

That was until he had been entrapped in this war against that of a man who did not posses mortal blood. The Vanir were not all like this one, some possessed the wild elements of the forge or great hearths and headed their prayers, others were nigh untouchable and uncaring. Then there were those who ran rampant, spilling blood as freely as the wild falls to the north-eastern border. There was nothing that could satiate the hunger of the Vanir when they craved such bloodlust, and this fool attempt of a battle was only a small move in a grandiose game.

A horn pierced the silence, that had been rustled only by the chatter of chainmail and the nervous steps of the battle mounts. Will frowned and flipped back his hood as the men around him roared to life, the bloodlust of mortals stoked once more into being (such an easy emotion to stir). A tangible presence that hung in his breast and echoed along with his heart. Garmr's head craned up from where it rested in the mud-covered ground, specks of the oily substance beading the thick coat of tawny brown.

Will reached down and ruffled the thick strands of fur, the sensation muted by the leather gloves coating his hands. The large creature pierced Will with keen ochre eyes, conveying a deep knowledge with that gaze. The male nodded appeasing the beast and with a playful rub the large wolf-shaped creature rose to it's feet towering beside Will, it was a mount that only the Aesir could bring forth; for it wasn't the crazed mutts or the mindless beasts the Vanir sought, those that fought on will-less obedience.

Shafts of fading moonlight cascaded upon the battlefield, and the changing winds of the early dawn temporarily cleared the mists so that the tense anticipation of the forthcoming battle resumed and cloyed all men's hearts. Adjusting the small daggers resting at his hip, Will played with the pommel shaped in the form of a canine and bit his lip.

He worried not if he was going to survive the battle, while the Aesir was certainly weaker in spirit than any Vanir they had their own soul calling. They were spirits of the Earth; the Vanir were those of war and spirits, things tangible and eternal in the races of the Earth. Will was confident that this battle would not take his life. The young male's concern rested mainly on the men and women around him, for however reluctant that he was a participant of this battle he had come to know the generals serving under Crawford in the long campaign towards this day.

The atmosphere turned sharp, like a sword slice a hairs breath away from Will's neck. One last glance towards Jack assured Will that this was the final charge and whoever succeeded in this battle would no doubt determine the fate's path. A stray sword fell, relinquished at last from the dead hands of it's wielder, it clattered and clashed against the stricken metal below, and in that instant the battle resumed.

Will hung back as the foot soldiers hurried forward patterned as they were in the faded blues and greys that substituted the realm's coat of arms. The whiny of horses grew louder, and still reaching a crescendo was the pounding rhythm of hooves beating upon the chilled earth. The first clash rang like the shots of mortar and rent the air flinging twisted forms to the ground in a cruel mockery of marionette strings cut loose.

Whispering at the joining of Garmr's ear Will seated himself upon the beast once more, the rustle of light chain mail and the sweeping fold of fabric that always accompanied his form, shifting as he settled on the large wolf's back. The midnight fur that cradled his neck provided some warmth, and the motley assortment of greens and greys that patterned his cloak settled against his shoulder and shifted under the scarce moonlight so like a shadow upon the battlefield he swept forward.

Will fought like a wraith drifting from one victim to the next in the hollow mind set he adapted for the battlefield to protect himself. His daggers sought out those who would terrorize the kingdom in the most devastating ways if allowed to live, and stole their life blood, while slicing at challenging fools. Garmr ripped at whatever poor soul was within reach of the great maw of teeth that snapped like ice shards.

Will had killed before, Vanir or Aesir every deity had taken a life for how was one to know the truth of their own mortality if they couldn't touch that of the race they watched over. But that was intimate and sacred, a ritual of life and death, the endless circle.

Here on the desolate plains where acrid smoke-filled Will's lungs and drew aching breaths from his throat, Will's empathy was useless once he had identified his targets, their presences painted within his mind, and it would only serve to harm him in the end; No, that power was better used for the hunt when Vanir rose unruly and brought forth rivers of blood. So, he became vicious as the wildlings themselves, slashing out on pure instinct and the roar of the beast inside his soul grew louder.

The pounding of his blood saluting and roiling within Will's head became a dull rhythm. He ignored the figures that danced across his sight, the first man he had killed in the wake of the new solstice and the young Vanir that had risen in his wake, haunting doe eyes chasing his dreams.

There was blood everywhere, and Will drew back from the sanctuary of his mind to blink away the crimson that coated his sight and laid itself in every creak and crevice of fabric. Idly his dagger flicked from his hand to intercept the descent of a broadsword, in a quick motion Will slid under the bearded man's outstretched arm and sliced at his exposed jugular. The corpse fell to the ground landing with an inaudible thump in the world filled with chaos and the rousing din of the dead.

Garmr growled beside Will as a sharp presence flitted into existence, the acrylic tang of blood wetting his lips and cajoling his senses into overdrive awakened him. Dully he could sense the wake of corpses behind him, feel the play of battle across the muddy plains. It swayed precariously like the weighted scales the warden possessed constantly tipping back and forth in meager attempts to balance itself.

Will's head snapped up as the presence that sent shivers cascading down his spine like the frosted breath of the early morning, and curled the hair along the spine of his neck, flared. Dark cocoa eyes flickered around the battlefield with the gaze of a hunter stalking its prey before it landed on the Vanir.

A figure of writhing darkness stood across the battle field, that towering figure with great horns curling from it's head like crowns of malignance. Will had known that there had been a Vanir behind the madness of battle, it was always such creatures that inspired such tepid seeping chaos.

It was him, always him Will could never escape this Vanir. One who was ancient, as deep as the ice barricades of the frozen south, powerful and free, always hiding in plain sight until he struck. The corpses of those chosen victims were always displayed in such a powerful manner that it struck at the primordial of life. Heliwr the Hunter Vanir, one of the first to consume the flesh of mortals for pleasure rather than the sick surge of power.

Will had first met Heliwr in the early morning mists of a shrouded fall, where a female body had been strung upon pillared antlers like a monument. It had been awesome in the early biblical sense, beautiful and twisting with all it's horror, it was a masterpiece of death's façade.

The creature- Heliwr turned his head toward Will, opalescent eyes of fathomless ink locking onto Will's own in a faint battle of wills. He could feel the pull, freeing and gripping all at once so different from the nature that flourished within Will, this was one who was the moors of blood stoned steel; Will looked away.

The creature cocked his head as if studying the being before him before with a breath across the battlefield it turned from the stricken corpse of the female commander, one who had been nosy and far too interested in the mannerisms of the immortals; her hair had reminded Will of crafted copper.

There were bodies like a carpet where the Vanir had travelled the burial ground of a battle field all twisted with wide eyes like some painting of gruesome horror. And as the creature drew nearer, Will froze in adjacent horror that his presence had been noted by this one. Soldiers continued to rush at the Vanir hefting blades that glimmered like mithril only to fall beneath graceful claws.

 _Stalking eyes edging him forward whispering of the ease and pleasure of the kill. Take, take don't stop with the fallen and twisted let blood run like the nectar it is, consume, consume. See what you have wrought, what we have wrought._

Garmr growled startling Will out of the deep reverie he had fallen into, a vortex of swirling memories that heightened the taste of blood along his lips. Will stood frozen still in the battlefield where time seemed to have drawn to a close between the two who only cast cloaks of mortal flesh over their forms. The battles raged on tides swelling in immovable surges of blood, and the cries of the dying and fearless were an endless cacophony that was drowning him pulling him deeper and farther, and yet nothing at once.

The Vanir was close, cutting across the field like one might float over air, any who opposed his path fallen in a beautiful picturesque of death. Will gripped the edge of the small dagger enclosed in the breast pocket of his jerkin, the one he saved for beings of madness, and for taking that which life provided.

Heliwr was there between a breath of battle where all movements seemed slow and sluggish blood painting the sky in eager folds, and the next a space of only a smile between the two figures stood like gilded crosses on the battlefield. The Vanir reached out settling his limb against Will's cheek with a chilling grin that split apart all that remained humanoid of the figure. Will shuddered at the feralness that sparked and twisted from the contact snaking along is skin like a deep-seated oil.

If Will looked closely into those eyes he could see the humanity that the Vanir often forsook in favour of endless carnage and bloodshed. The Vanir who retained such a soul peak were the ones to be feared, they were of the most dangerous quality. For they understood, savoured life's beauties and their significance in death, could hide in plain sight a wolf in sheep's clothing, bring a kingdom to ruin with a few tugs of manipulated string.

Will's hand tightened on the hilt of the dagger clasped to his chest once more, fingers bone-white around the ivory material. The beast inside him was calling, chanting asking him to split his soul apart and take blood upon it's skin, while the other side shied away spoke of peace and the soft cleansing waters of the Harrowdale creeks.

Interest grinned in the Vanir's eyes and it's hand a false imitation of gentle tightened around his chin forcibly tilting his head up so that he could look into the universe captured in still night orbs. Anther hand cold as death's lover and with all the fell of polished wood clasped the other side of his head holding him there as Will shuddered trembling in some wicked chaos.

There were words there, a language that Will felt he had known once long ago and had forsaken. Such emotion swelled in his own soul, brightening the shards of forged stars that gazed at the world. Those depths called to him, enticing and sweet as summer wines, with all the promise of a freedom so faintly tasted, yet as addicting as the pomegranate seeds that fair maiden spring had consumed. The hunger Heliwr had kindled like Greek fire upon water, burning consuming everything in it's path upon midsummer bathed in blood and sacrifice.

Garmr growled as Crawford's voice rang out across the field drawing courage from the falling soldiers and lifting forward the final tide of battle as the sun crested mist shapen hills. Garmr's low growl startled Will out of his reverie breaking the silence of his mind punctuated by haunting nameless melodies. With faint reluctance Will slashed out wicked fast the dagger cutting into the pale clay like flesh and drawing forth ichor black as the sin and darkness that clawed at Will's insides and entreated his mind in soft cajoling whispers.

" **Interesting, so very interesting Will let us meet again."**

Heliwr's voice was rich and deep, it slid like the sensual caress of a lover burrowing deeper into Will's mind like a seed planted within the Earth's crust. One hand released its bruising grip on his chin to idly trace the cut gathering beading blood onto his finger before it dragged that finger across Will's cheek under the curve of his eyes where it burned and called.

Will sprung back and raised his blades, the blood of the Aesir within him called to the soft curls of the wind, the dreadful crystalline snow that gathered around the bodies in the false imitation of the sheets spared for lonely ends. Wispy curls whipped around his head and the raven like feathers of his true form shifted along the curve of his spine and peaked along his hairline threading into his hair.

Heliwr laughed, this time a grating sound like grinding ice, belaying his amusement as Will snapped forward the land a blur as he swept forward fast across the plains in the yawning distance between them. The Vanir caught his arm twisting it to the side, jolting a harsh cry from Will's lips.

It grinned, pleased at the sound, eyes darkening with unbridled lust and hunger, as if it wished to consume Will there for all he stood. Instead the creature trailed a finger once more over the plains of Will's features in the sickening portrayal of a lover's caress. Will's eyes darted down as power spiked and coiled, rippled tensions between the two gods, to see the sharp tusk of an antler appeared in Heliwr's grasp; And all Will felt was pain as the sharp point was driven slowly excruciating inch by inch forward through the muscles of his stomach till it pierced the flesh of his back.

The beast inside roared as pain sprouted from his chest chasing his senses into screaming agony as it flowed through his veins. Weakly Will clawed at the Vanir's features breath startling from his lungs in heavy gasps and weak choking sounds. As the dizzying black surrounded his vision drawing him into it's comforting folds Will saw a shine of blue in those depth-less eyes a promise there stirred like bitter wine.

Then there was only the soul shattering pain racing through his system as he fell to the ground caught only by Garmr's form. The horn, the one the messenger blew at the end of all beginnings, resounded across the battlefield sounding the beaconing tides of a fruitless battle where the kingdom had succeeded but always indefinitely lost the war.

 ** _"Soon Alce you'll see."_**

It echoed and whispered and twisted, like the cold rising up and stealing the warmth of his flesh, burrowing deep within his mind nurturing an abandoned seed of wild untamed freedom. Then his eyes slid shut of the bleary desolation and he embraced the darkness like the old friend he had always known it to be.

X

The first thing Will's senses registered was the herbal smell that only the healing barracks could muster; it was a sickly smell heavy and burning his throat, ironic in a place dedicated to the betterment of it's patients. The second thing Will acknowledged was the pulsing cold fire that radiated in his chest like the hearts of mortal flesh, it poured through his veins and hazed his senses in soft delirium. His whole form was sore, a deep sated ache that could only appear when one spent countless nights upon the cold damp of the battlefield soaked in blood and surrounded by sickness. And daylight under the beating sun and heavy gales, throwing every limb forward uncoordinated and wild in mindless killing as one carved their way through a battlefield of soon to be dead mortals.

Faint noises dully became louder, the shifting of sheets, the soft clink of medicinal vials, a faint cough, and the moaning of the dying and dead. Beside the cot he was resting on a presence sharpened itself and Will felt the deep-seated coil of his anger unwound itself like a cobra before it slunk away always hidden. For if the commander hadn't seen Will as messiah of the battlefield for whatever vague notions, Will wouldn't have met Heliwr once more, and awaken chaotic wills within his soul.

Just the thought of the ancient Vanir, crowned in ethereal night sent chills scattering across his skin and skirting his spine. Forcefully Will attempted to deliver his mind from thoughts of the elder god, it had never worked when they first met and it did nothing the same.

In an attempt to dissuade the thoughts from rising like a cacophony within his mind. Overpowering every sense till the beast broke free and the only containment was fragile wire thin sanity he opened his eyes.

The medical barracks were bright with gentle light of early morning, and the pale timber of the hall did nothing to dim the starkness of such a place. Blinking rapidly at the moisture gathering along his lids Will tilted his head back and let deep rhythmic breaths leave his lungs, trailing cool air across his lips and bringing his surroundings blurry like paned glass into focus.

A cough to his immediate left reminded Will of his visitor and with an inaudible sigh Will cautiously titled his head in the same direction, aware of the thrumming pain curving along his jaw. Jack Crawford was an imposing man with eyes of heavy set coal, and the countenance of a veteran warrior, at the moment he simply appeared tired, appearance haggard over the steaming cup of coffee he was sipping.

Those piercing eyes settled on Will after a quiet moment of contemplation, and Will deflated, whatever tension pinning his shoulders up fleeing the bone tired emptiness that coveted his body. Jack smiled, it was a good expression on his features softened them and showed Will how such a fierce and entrancing woman like his wife had fallen for him, and from some mystical location procured a cup of coffee.

Handing it to Will with a slow careful ease as shaky fingers grasped the mug the man said, "Quite the battle hmm?"

Will could only nod, the imagery of corpses and blood far too familiar to gain any significance within his memories, what was stark like a stake through the center of his cerebral cortex was his encounter with Heliwr. Blowing at the piping hot liquid, Will settled into the bed shifting slightly so he could hesitantly raise the cup to his lips.

Letting out a faint appreciative sigh as the burning bitter liquid entered his body, Will basked in the silence for an all of a moment before his gaze was once more drawn to the commander. Jack frowned considering Will in that way he often did, as if by looks alone he could ascertain whether Will had finally fallen from the crumbling ledge of sanity.

"Was it him again?"

Jack asked concern and a faint malignance lining his voice, the same Vanir who had struck a year earlier in the pleasant fields of the Lord's realm. Will paused eyes darkening in thought before he nodded reluctantly knowing the information would only anger the commander.

Will could see the emotion curl across his features, a tainted disgust carving residence there. Turning his head away from the sight and the bubbling emotions swelling like a witch's brew the young man glanced beside the cot to see Garmr's large form. The canine was resting it's large muzzle upon it's paws but when it noticed Will's attention it cocked it's head and made happy dog sounds.

Will cooed at the animal for a minute reaching out to run his fingers through wicked soft fur untangling the fine hairs, he was happy to note that the canine had been washed of the grime of the battlefield. He had woken once to find the poor beast still threaded through with dirt and blood, it hadn't been a pretty day in the infirmary after that. The ground had rumbled it's warning as the skies boisterously echoed it.

Will hesitantly cast his gaze towards Crawford once more, the man was studying his empty cup as if it held the secrets to his problems, with a look of disdain. Sensing Will's gaze the man looked up, a certain fondness in his eyes like he carried for the generals of his legion. Will liked the warmth that swelled in his chest from such a look, he couldn't fault Jack for the position he held or the decisions that had been entrenched upon him, at least not all of the time.

"Get some sleep Will. When the head of medical staff relinquishes their grasp on you, you'll have to do some socializing before you can head home."

Jack parroted with a nod, before standing up starring at the mug once more before he set it down and exited the infirmary. Will sighed socializing with the mortals was not high on his list of things he wanted to do ever (socializing in general was a pain unless it was with animals). Socializing in this case meant meeting up with the commander and his generals to discuss the battle, figure out new tactics and weakness, organize new raids and defenses, and develop plans in dealing with the Vanir. Then he would likely have to speak to Hannibal, which was a positive thing in the whole dreary affair.

Hannibal Lector was an interesting man to say the least, he was considered a sage or ancient one by the common folk, though Will sometimes jested that if he bore a women's form the clandestine people would christen him a witch. But he was intelligent and intent, possessing a keen wisdom that lead Will to suspect how he portrayed the facet of his life that Will glimpsed was not all there was to the man.

Crawford had sought Hannibal's aid concerning Will's involvement within the kingdom's boundaries. Aesir were spirits of the land, and while some could be freed to a deeper level akin to the Vanir (and infinitely more powerful than any base level god when freed) they were as a whole peaceful and refrained from the lifeblood of human kind. In drawing Will into the realm's battles Jack had been (rightfully) concerned that a high level of bloodshed could tip the scales unfavourably, and disrupt Will's already fragile balance.

There was no sanctioned practice to steer Will from the abyss, the void that he longingly glimpsed. But Will and Hannibal spoke, of dull things like the tidings of the coming shelled winter, or the raven's warnings perched from ancient tree limbs. Often, they spoke of the art and beauty found within the otherwise soiled world, the great art drawn forth, fine music and wines spoken of over dinner.

Hannibal was one of the few humans Will felt general companionship with, there was a sophisticated aura, that dominated faint traces of ancient wildness. They played games, leading the other through traps and words that confused and hurt. Often Hannibal dominated such games, a master tactician one who could see the board already laid bare.

Will knew there was more to the man, if that was what he even was. The young Vanir that had risen from the wake of death Will had wrought against immortal flesh to continue the safety of the realm in the face of madness was one such evidence. Abigail was young, but already powerful blood having easily stained her hands and Will suspected that within time's graceful passing her power would deepen.

But he couldn't bring himself to care for such consequences having taken the youth under his wings, Hannibal had also taken a shining to the young female and if it led to friendly fire then Will was only bemused.

Thinking of Abigail drew his thoughts to the wiccan women he respected; Alana's field of work was closely linked with Hannibal's. She dwelled in healing of the mind and soul, often investing in herbal remedies. Idly his thoughts drifted to the small bundle of herbs secured in his breast pocket, a sweet mix of Thistle, Bramble leaf, and Caraway. A portion of his being believed in the wonders the wiccan managed to invoke, and the protection of her herbs and ointments; while other times he was often sceptical.

Will appreciated the thought and gesture all the same. Alana worked generally of her own practices, but for the course of the war she had been providing wisdom and protection to the commander Will served under. It was nice to see the woman who he had first met as an adolescent collecting herbs off the small shores of the falls located near the expanse of woods he stalked.

He suspected she had Aesir blood in her ancestry if only for her skill in cultivating plants and working healing within mortal flesh. She was generally a pleasant woman, if a bit mothering and overly concerned for his sanity at times. But she supported him and Will appreciated the gesture, he would have to visit her when he was released from the thrice damn infirmary.

Even with accelerated healing rates, the medical practitioners always insisted that he stay for a prolonged period of time, when in his opinion he was perfectly healed. Perhaps it was a medical personal condition, as Alana always condemned him for moving after a few days of rest, and even Hannibal rarely shook his head with a bemused smile curled like a grin.

He just wanted to be with his pack, at his hearth located deep within sentinel oaks, and willows weeping for lost life; Curled upon the floor surrounded by the canines he had adopted and taken into his life force. Garmr was the only beast he was permitted to bring with him when he ventured into populated territories, as a battle mount, and a support for Will it was the one saving grace.

He could feel the weariness of his body keenly as he shifted against the sheets, his form recovering from the long campaign against Heliwr, and the gaping hole that pierced his lower torso, another battle scar to add to a vast collection that faded with the season's passing. He had many things to do before he could return to peace and let the raging beast inside him awaken only in haunted slumber.

For now, Will could rest, all troubles he would face with time. Closing his eyes to the still too bright light of the infirmary Will let his form's breathing deepen, the mind falling silent, as his soul wandered seeking answers of his kin. Garmr beside his form purred like a cat would with contentment and Will drifted off.

X

Well I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter, and all the puns! As noted in the translation section at the top Alce means elk which is a synonym for deer, so when Heliwr is saying see you soon Alce. He's actually saying see you soon deer= which could be equivalent to see you soon dear. Yay words!

Once again super thanks to my friend Haedraulics for supporting/inspiring me to write this fic. Be sure to check out her art it's super amazing!

Thank you all for reading, if you liked or would like to see a next chapter reviews/comments are always appreciated!


End file.
